What A Rotten Winter
by girlfromgraz
Summary: After the horrible events at the Underforge and Skjor's ensuing death, Falka ran away. Months later, she finally returns to offer her condolences to Aela.


**What A Rotten Winter**

It was early in the morning when she noticed Aela stepping out on the patio behind Jorrvaskr. The sun had not risen from the horizon yet and the plains of Whiterun still lay in shadows. Just like every morning since that fateful excursion to Gallows Rock, Aela brought a candle. Falka watched as the woman made her way up the steps to the Skyforge. From her place in the shadows, she waited until Aela had replaced the burnt-down candle on the forge's rim, dropping the old one into the ever-glowing embers.

"Aela," she then addressed the other woman.

Aela shrieked, startled by the sudden interruption. "Shor's b— Falka!" She gaped at her shield-sister. "You… You're alive!" Relief flooded her body. On a sudden impulse, she crossed the distance between them and hugged Falka. "You really are alive!"

Falka ducked out of Aela's embrace, slightly uncomfortable at the warm gesture. "Have you got a moment? To talk?"

The rising sun found the two women sitting on the ridge up at the forge, their feet dangling over the edge of the rocks, and each a bottle of ale in hand. They drank in silence for some time, watching as colour returned to the land. At their feet, Jorrvaskr still slept.

"I'm sorry I ran," Falka hesitantly broke their silence. "I was so…" 'Horrified' was what she wanted to say, but did not dare to voice out loud. "How… have you been," she hesitantly asked instead.

Aela grunted. "Not too well," she admitted. "They hold me responsible for this." She waved her arm in a vague gesture. "All of it. And Skjor—" Choking, she forced herself to speak the words out loud. "Skjor is dead."

"I am… sorry for your loss, Aela."

Aela nodded her acknowledgement, then took a deep gulp of her drink. "What a rotten winter," she sighed.

"What a cold winter," Falka corrected, shuddering.

A faint smile ghosted over Aela's face.

"How's Kodlak?" Falka continued.

"Alive. Barely. Skjor's death and your disappearance have cost him."

A dour look crossed Falka's face, but she refrained from trying to explain her behaviour. Instead, she finished her beer and opened another bottle. Down below, the huge doors to Jorrvaskr's main hall opened and a tall figure stepped outside.

"At least he must have been happy I disappeared," she dryly commented.

"Farkas?" Aela frowned. "He was beyond himself with worry. Even went so far—"

"Farkas?" Annoyed, Falka narrowed her eyes at the figure in the yard below.

Next to her, Aela chuckled. "You thought it was Vilkas?"

"Aye," Falka nodded. "And don't you tell me he's the smaller one."

A short laugh escaped Aela. "No good without both of them being around, right?"

"How can you tell them apart anyhow?" Falka complained.

"I've grown up around them. But look… There, you see how he walks?"

"I guess…"

"It's entirely different from Vilkas'. And he's got longer hair, look. Vilkas' is shorter."

"I can only be sure when they speak," Falka muttered.

Aela laughed again. "They're as different as any two people, if you know what to look for."

Falka only shook her head, not entirely convinced.

"And no, Vilkas wasn't happy you were gone either."

Falka returned her attention to Aela, narrowing her eyes at the woman next to her. "Of course he wasn't," she echoed Aela's words in mockery. "All he had for me last autumn were snide remarks and scorn. And Farkas wasn't that much better, either."

"They both don't trust newcomers easily," Aela waved Falka's concerns away. "And they've some reservations towards mages. But you're one of us now. One of our pack. And you had us all worried."

"I'm sorry," Falka admitted. "I really am. I only—"

"Falka!" The shout echoed across the Skyforge, cutting her off mid-sentence. "It is you!" Farkas climbed the last steps up to the forge and crossed the distance between them. "I thought I heard voices up here and came to look. But I never imagined— Where have you been?" He pulled her into a bear-hug.

"Winterhold," Falka gasped from beneath his crushing squeeze.

"Gah, mages." Farkas released her from his grip and took a step away. "We thought you dead!" he scolded.

Falka had the decency to look guilty.

And then, all his rigour was blown away and he grinned. "You look good." He punched her shoulder. "Finally put on some weight. And what a decent little sword." Farkas patted the blade that hung at her side.

But their laughter was cut short as Vilkas came up the flight of stairs. "Wow, look who's risen from the dead – it must be spring indeed."

"So you did miss me," Falka dead-panned. "But don't get all sentimental on me, I'll be gone by evening."

"Never thought you'd stay," Vilkas countered.

"What's there to stay?" Falka provoked his brother. "You?"

Farkas rolled his eyes. "Not again!"

Aela sighed exasperated and got up. "Told you he missed you," she commented, forcing Vilkas to swallow his next remark. He ceased his match with Falka to glare at Aela.

"Great," Vilkas sneered. "Look how far we've come."

"Vilkas," his brother tried to pacify him.

The look that passed between the two men lasted only an instant, but when Vilkas continued, the scoff had been replaced by some measure of sanity. "The Inner Circle of the Companions fighting with each another right where everyone can see them. Brilliant." He sighed. "I'm sorry, whelp. It's really good to see you in one piece again. We thought you were dead."

Falka nodded, accepting his apology and offering her own. "Me too. But don't argue on my behalf, I'll be gone within by dusk. I only came to offer my condolences—"

"Thank you—"

"To Aela! And don't call me whelp, you—"

The rest of what Falka had to say was lost to Farkas and Aela as they made their way down the stairs and back into Jorrvaskr.

"May I throttle them? Next time?" Farkas begged.

"Only if I may help you," Aela replied.

And then, the huge doors fell shut behind them.


End file.
